


In for a penny

by LostInTranslation (theonemaye)



Series: [Permanent Hiatus] [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Babysitter Lance, Domestic Fluff, Katt - Freeform, M/M, Shance Cafe Valentine's Exchange, Slow Burn, ish, past klance, past lancelot - Freeform, past shallura, people have several relationships throughout their lives ok?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 18:04:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13793181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonemaye/pseuds/LostInTranslation
Summary: Lance can’t find anyone who wants to hire him as the thing he studied for, so when this babysitter job appears from thin air, all he can do is give it a go. If this new path leads to a series of reunions, self-discovery and - why not? - love, then he’ll have to take it as it comes. After all, when you’re in for a penny you’re also in for a pound.Update Nov. 2018:Please read the series description.





	In for a penny

**Author's Note:**

  * For [robotjellyfish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotjellyfish/gifts).



> Written for Shance Cafe Valentine's Exchange as a (very very late) gift for **OsakaSogo** (Poisonedfortunecookie on Tumblr  & robotjellyfish here and on twitter). I really hope you like it! And sorry for the long wait!!!

For the first time in a long time, Lance is speechless.

The pretty redhead behind the generic desk is looking at him with something alike pity. Lance knows that look all too well. From shitty ex-partners to ex-employers, they all give him the same look when they’re about to sack his ass to the street.

He hates that look.

“I’m sorry, Lance. You know I am.”

Lance tries to react, to move, to breathe. He tries so hard to say something, anything, but his body has forgotten how to function.

He’s scared.

Even more so. He’s freaking _paralyzed_.

“Are you absolutely sure that’s what he said?” Lance asks, finally snapping out of his stupor. He’s got to get a grip. This is _not_ the time for a breakdown. “He explicitly said not to renew my contract? Mine? Lance McClain’s?”

Ezor gives him that look again and Lance’s guts twist inside his body. He’s screwed.

“Mr. Daibazaal was very clear,” she explains, in a monotone that’s obviously practiced. The girl has been human resources senior assistant for years. Of course she has mastered the art of axing. “He said your services were no longer required. And that he wishes you well.”

Ezor throws a knowing, almost sympathetic look at Lance before turning her gaze to the computer. Lance briefly wonders just how many sons of bitches have been sat here before, in Lance’s same position. Surely, he’s not the first VP assistant to be discreetly dismissed after months of banging his boss.

Lance always knew Lotor Daibazaal was an utter bastard. What he didn’t realize was how much of his whole future was wrapped around said bastard’s finger.

“You’re bound to receive a complete settlement for the time you worked for us,” Ezor keeps talking. The words ‘complete settlement’ echoing inside Lance’s brain, “as well as a recommendation letter written and signed by Mr. Daibazaal himself.”

Lance frowns at that. Because, yeah, he has no doubts of his excellent assistance skills, thank you very much. What he does doubts is Lotor’s ability to take his head out of his own ass enough as to consider Lance more than great sex in two legs.

Still, if due to some kind of miracle Lotor _did_ write him a good enough letter, what could Lance do with it? Is not as he can go show it to his landlady or give it to the bank as payment for his mom’s mortgage. And sure as hell, Lance can’t use it to pay that first Entrepreneurial Management semester for which he already has an admission letter. To say he was counting on having his contract renewed for at least another three-month period was saying the least.

Farewell, Lance the entrepreneur. Hello, Lancey the busboy.

“You can reapply in six months,” Ezor suggests. Lance realizes he’s probably been still and quiet far too much time. “Galra Corp is always looking for young, proactive personnel.”

“And just how many ex-VP assistants have you seen rehired, huh?” Lance retorts, no longer able to hide his disgust.

Ezor directs an apologetic smile at him, crossing her hands over the desk’s surface. It might be time for Lance to take what’s left of his pride and leave the premises before someone gives the order to kick him outta there.

No need for the company’s suited gorillas to toss his ass on a trash can.

 

 

 

“I said it yesterday and I’m gonna say it today: I still don’t have anything for you.”

Lance recoils an inch on his chair, losing the trace of confident he fought so hard to build that morning in front of the mirror. The girl from the employment agency - who he knows by name at this point - doesn’t even take her gaze from the computer screen as she speaks.

“I told you I’d call if anything came in,” she continues, eyes trained on the screen. “So you can safely assume it hasn’t.”

“I know, but-”

Lance tries to come up with some logical explanation for his presence there and finds himself with none. He knows better than to be pushy with this stuff. He’s been doing it for the past six months, after all. Then why is he in front of Plaxum’s desk for the second time in two days? The girl is good at what she does, but that doesn’t mean she can materialize a job offer from thin air.

“My rent is weeks past due,” he breathes out, unable to hold back. “I have until the weekend to pay or my landlady will throw my stuff to the street and set them on fire, probably”.

Plaxum finally looks at him, her scowl softening a little.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and Lance can tell she means it. “But in the last few months we’ve tried everything. You should be employed by now.”

“It’s not my fault people don’t want former Galra Corp’s employees among their ranks!” Lance says, defensively. “I’m trying.”

“I know,” Plaxum says. “It’s just I’m running out of options that fit your profile.”

“Look outside my profile, then,” Lance says simply. “I need to pay the rent, not to be a billionaire.”

“So what, are you willing to scrub floors and do dishes now?” she asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“If it means I won’t become a hobo”, Lance starts, intent in every word, “then yes. I’m down.”

Plaxum seems a little taken aback by Lance’s response. Maybe his desperation shows in his face? At this point, he can’t be arsed to care.

“I do want to help you, you know?” she says after a beat or two.

“Then help me, Plaxum, please!” Lance pleads. “Go through the system again. Look for the stuff nobody wants to do. I'll take anything!”

The girl purses her lips for a second, gazing at Lance with ill-concealed concern. She sighs soon after, turning to the computer. A few moments pass, and then she’s talking again.

“There’s actually something. A new in,” she says, causing for Lance’s heart to start galloping. “How do you like domestic chores?”

“I know my way around them, why?” Lance replies, slightly curious.

“You any good with kids?”

“I’ve got two little nephews and used to babysit for my neighbors when I was in high school. What’s the job about?”

A couple more of mouse-clicks happen before anything else comes out of Plaxum’s mouth. “Housekeeping and child care,” she reads aloud.

“What kind of care?”

“They need someone to babysit, feed, and look after a seven-year-old. Fulltime, possible stay overs. Oh! And it’s good money.” The words ‘good’ and ‘money’ have Lance leaning forward in no time. “It’s actually excellent money. This is the fifth time they try to recruit, they're desperate!”

“I can work with that,” Lance assures, hope blooming inside his chest. “Does it say anything about skills?”

“Not at all,” Plaxum says, still clicking away. “Can you meet the person tomorrow at nine?”

“Of course I can!” Lance says, maybe a little too excited.

“Perfect!” The girl is actually grinning now. Was Lance such a pain in her rear? “Then it’s a date! Please don’t screw this one up.”

“Honey,” he fake-gasps, already taking out his phone to make a note with the time and place, “I would never!”

 

Lance stirs the last of his coffee around the bottom of the mug, for what seems to be the fiftieth time that morning. He’s sat inside a cafe downtown, waiting to meet his potential employer. The big vintage clock over the counter tells him it’s almost 10:30, a freaking hour and a half after the agreed time.

He puts his cup on the table and lets out a sigh. _It was too good to be true_ , he thinks, _they were bound to find someone else_.

After taking a couple of seconds to mentally prepare - and honestly, to swallow the lump forming inside his throat - Lance gets up the chair he’s been waiting on. As if on cue, the bell over the cafe’s door chimes into life as the door swings open, revealing… someone Lance never thought he’d saw again in his life.

A tall, strongly built, and incredibly handsome man. Sharp features, short, dark hair - though longer on top, with a tuft of white hair partially covering his forehead - and breathtakingly handsome.  Wrapped in a long, navy blue trench coat that perfectly contrasts with his fawn beige complexion… and did Lance mention the man is unbelievably handsome?

Then again, it is not the man’s good-looks what has Lance blinking as if he’s staring straight to the noon sun. It’s the fact that Lance has seen him before, maybe four or five years in the past, during one of the worst - yet one of the best - nights of his life.

The man scans the cafe for a second before laying his eyes on Lance. He smiles charmingly and doesn’t miss a single beat, walking toward Lance with a confident stride. Lance realizes, a little too late, that he is still standing in the middle of the place like a complete moron. An obnoxious blush wants to creep to his face and Lance fights it with all his might. He surely looks stupid enough as it is, no need for his savior to notice just how much of a dork Lance can be.

Before he can do anything else, Mr. Late-but-Gorgeous is standing across his table, still sporting that charming smile. _Does he remember me?_ Lance’s brain feed, while its owner keeps blinking owlishly at the man in front of him. _He probably doesn’t_.

A silvery metal prosthetic hand is extended to Lance a second later, snapping him out of his trance. He takes it.

“You are Lance, correct?” the man asks him, his velvet voice exactly as Lance remembers.

Lance nods, a bit too clumsy, and gets his hand back.

“Y-yes,” he squeaks. _Oh, for Pete’s sake-!_ He tries again, clearing his throat this time. “Yes, I am. Lance McClain. Have we met before?” He cringes internally. ‘Have we met before?’ Seriously? Could he be any more obvious?

“Yes,” the man says. A gasp catches in Lance’s throat. “Well, no,” the man denies, and Lance is now officially confused. Does he remember Lance or not? “Not quite. You see, I’ve got your resume. The girl from the agency gave it to me. It has your picture on it.”

As if to prove his point, Tall-and-Charming shows Lance a folder he’s carrying in his other hand. It is crammed with papers and surely one of them must be Lance’s resume. Which he doesn’t remember to have put a picture on but, hey! He has been unemployed for the best part of half a year. He probably gave it to Plaxum at some point, in a desperate attempt to get a job faster.

Realization washes over Lance as the word ‘job’ forms inside his brain. “So you are my potential employer?” He phrases it as a question but there’s little room to doubt when the man’s smile turns from charming to apologetic. The next words leave Lance’s mouth without him really thinking about them: “You’re pretty damn late.”

To Lance’s surprise - because, really, he just told off the very person that could’ve hired his sorry ass, and who the hell does _that_? - the man lets out a laugh, clear and unabashed, that actually earns them a few curious looks from other customers. Lance raises a skeptical eyebrow. Is this dude for real?

“Yeah, sorry about that,” the man says, still smiling. The thin scar running across the bridge of his nose makes him look like he’s blushing and _oh, my gosh!_ Can Lance please stop thinking like a preteen? “I got caught up in some work and lost track of time. I was really hoping you wouldn’t have left. Glad you didn’t.”

“Yeah...” Lance looks at the man’s pretty face for another instant, until deciding this is completely out of place and he needs to get a grip. He fidgets with his hands over his jeans and clears his throat. “Look, can we sit? We kinda look dumb like this.”

_‘We look dumb like this?’ Way to go, McClain._

“Oh, yes, absolutely,” the man says, apparently unaware of Lance’s lack of subtlety. He sits and Lance follows suit. “I’m Takashi Shirogane, by the way. Nice to meet you, Lance.”

“Nice to meet you too, Mr. Shirogane,” Lance says, politely. On the back of his head, a voice screams at him because he’s finally able to put a name to that face, but Lance does his best to keep a neutral expression.

“You can call me Shiro,” the man says. Lance’s stomach does a funny thing because _I can call him ‘Shiro’?_ “I mean, that’s how everyone calls me,” Shiro corrects, to Lance’s disappointment. “Unless they’re new recruits or I’m arresting them for being naughty.”

Lance chokes on his own saliva upon hearing the word ‘naughty’ being said so lightly by the man before him. He coughs a couple times in an attempt to hide his stupid body reactions.

“A-arrest them?” he asks through a cough, even though he thinks he knows the answer. “Are you a cop?”

“I’m a police detective,” Shiro states, “Homicide Unit, but I mostly work with open and complicated cases.”

“Woah,” Lance breathes, because _damn!_ That makes Shiro ten times hotter in his book. “That sounds amazing.”

“More like exhausting,” Shiro says. “And also the reason we’re here today.”

_Shit. Right. The job._

“I must say I was pretty confused when the agency sent me your resume,” Shiro continues, straightening himself on the chair. “Firstly because it doesn’t look like a housekeeper’s one, but mostly because it doesn’t look like you have a defined career path.”

Lance gulps, remembering how he begged Plaxum to erase everything that had to do with his previous workplace from his resume. And it might just be his hyperactive imagination, but he could swear he saw Shiro’s demeanor shifting. From open and charming to inquisitive. His sharp, dark eyes scrutinizing Lance’s whole self like he’s a book to read or a mystery to solve.

“Yeah, about that...” Lance starts, scratching the back of his neck in nervousness. He forces himself to look at Shiro because he’s got to make a good impression or die trying. He needs this job. He really, _really_ needs this job. “I took Office Management in a technical school,” Lance explains. “Worked as a junior assistant for four months, then as VP assistant for a year. Haven’t been able to find a job in my area ever since.”

“May I ask why?”

Lance bites back a whine. He was kind of hoping he wouldn’t have to say the words before he got the job. Too much for his luck, apparently.

“I used to work in Galra Corp,” he says, doing his best to keep his voice neutral. “Let’s just say not everyone in my line of work is fond of my former employer’s choices.”

Shiro hums in understanding and doesn’t push any further, for which Lance is eternally grateful. Everyone with access to the local business news knows about Galra Corp’s cumbersome downfall. And even though Lance was lucky enough as to not be there when shit hit the fan, it definitely had a negative impact on his career. Nobody wants to work with a narc’s ex-assistant, after all. Even when said ex-assistant knew zero to nothing about his former employer’s ‘side job’.

“So… What exactly do you want to do with your life?” Shiro asks out of the blue, placing both hands on the table. Lance’s thoughts get back to the present instantly.

“Excuse me?” he says, taken by surprise because what the hell kind of question is that for a babysitter job interview?

“I mean, do you have any professional aspirations?” Shiro tries again, unfazed. “Perhaps a dream you wish to follow?”

“Hmm… well...” Lance struggles, looking for words that aren’t coming to him. Dreams? Aspirations? Of course he has those! But he hasn’t thought about them in so long, it’s almost like he’s forgotten. “To not turn into a homeless millennial would be nice,” he says, without thinking it through. Then he cringes at his own stupidity. Shiro, however, just chuckles at him.

“Lance,” the man calls him, completely serious once more, “can you tell me why should I employ you instead of say, the previous candidate?”

And if he thought he was struggling for words _before_ , it was nothing compared to what is happening inside his brain _right_ _now_. Literally nothing comes to his mind regarding Shiro’s question. Nothing at all.

“Uh...” Shiro looks at him with something alike sympathy and this is _not_ going well. “I- I’m...” _Say something. Anything!_ “I’m very good with kids!” Lance says at last, maybe a tad too loud. “I was my neighbors’ favorite babysitter and their children loved me! I rarely get sick. I actually live near here, so if your house is nearby too, I can come and go very fast if required. And I’m a more than decent cook. I mean, your kid needs to eat; you and your wife need it too. So I can cook and you lot won’t starve!”

“My daughter,” Shiro corrects.

“Say what?”

“You’re supposed to take care of my daughter,” he elaborates, politely. “It’s only me and her. No one else.”

“Oh,” Lance says, a little clueless. “Right.”

They stay silent after that. Shiro is looking at him like he wants to drill into his skull and read his thoughts and Lance trying not to blush or burst into a babbling spree. Lance ultimately looks away, unable to hold the man’s penetrating gaze.

“So...”

Shiro breaks the silence, and his tone reminds Lance the one used by his previous potential employers upon learning about his connection to Galra Corp and Lotor Daibazaal. He can almost feel the pity look in those intense eyes, rejecting Lance like so many others before, telling him ‘thanks but no thanks’. It was bound to happen, really. He’s going to be homeless by the weekend because he refuses to keep borrowing money from his friends without having a solid way to pay them. And he’s so utterly pathetic he just ruined the last chance he had to a decent-

“Can you start right now?”

Wait… _what?_

“What did you say?”

Lance risks looking up at Shiro and is greeted by a sincere smile, all trace of scrutiny gone from his features.

“I asked if you can start immediately,” Shiro repeats, voice calm. “I know it’s a little abrupt, but I’m free now and I’m not sure if I’ll be available tomorrow to show you around.”

It takes a couple of seconds for Lance to find his voice, and when he does it sound foreign. Like the voice of someone that actually has good luck in life.

“Of course I can,” he finally says, doing his best to bite back a grin. “Absolutely!”

“Great!” Shiro says, looking almost as relieved as Lance feels. “Then let’s go.”

 

 

As it turns out, Shiro and his daughter live in an apartment building two blocks from the cafe.

Lance and Shiro don’t talk much on the way to the apartment, basically because as soon as they set a foot outside, Shiro receives a call and becomes engrossed in deep conversation. Lance walks along Shiro, trying his best not to eavesdrop. However, loose words like ‘crime scene’, ‘evidence’, and ‘murder weapon’ reach his ears from time to time.

The man _really_ is a police detective, is he?

Lance sighs. From all the ‘not office’ jobs in that city he had to find the one where his employer is also a part of his past. Not that Shiro recognizes him or whatever. Had he done so, he probably wouldn’t have let Lance anywhere near his seven-year-old daughter.

They get to a huge apartment complex in no time. Shiro lets them in with a magnetic key card while still on the phone as Lance takes in the surroundings. It looks good, cozy even, and also expensive. The kind of place Lance won’t be able to afford without that bachelor degree he never got to study for. _Thanks again, Lotor._

Shiro walks right past the lobby and into an elevator, with Lance close behind. The man presses the button with a number fourteen on it as the doors close. Lance waits in silence, committing every detail to mind. No one wants a housekeeper that can’t even find the house he’s supposed to keep, do they?

“I didn’t peg you as the quiet type,” Shiro’s voice says, and Lance nearly jumps. He didn’t notice the man hanging up the phone. “Your resume said you were chatty and lively.”

Lance bites back a smile at that. Had Plaxum really write such a reference about him?

“I am,” Lance admits, glancing at Shiro just enough to notice the man’s gaze on him. “But you seemed quite busy.”

“I’m always busy,” Shiro says, shrugging. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

The elevator’s door opens, and they step into an ample hallway showered in natural light through big, fancy-looking glass windows. Shiro walks forward and Lance follows, almost to the very end of the corridor. A big, black door sits there, with a number ‘147’ engraved right over a peephole. He takes out a heavy set of keys and opens the door for them, stepping in before Lance.

At first, all Lance can see is Shiro’s wide shoulders as the man walks toward what it looks like a shoe rack. He takes off his shoes and Lance does the same, too nervous with the promise of a new job as to register his surroundings. Only when Shiro walks away from him does Lance's brain start making connections between what he’s seeing, what is happening, and why exactly is he here for.

 _This place is such a mess_ , Lance thinks, navigating through the initial shock wave and trying not to gawk at Shiro in disbelieve because who would have thought a man so kept together could live among such untidiness.

The floor is littered with bags, papers, boxes, and books. Some crates have books inside them; most of them are full of crumpled paper. There are pieces of clothing scattered here and there over the most creative surfaces, from a chair to a desk to a freaking full size human skeleton. A scarf is hanging from a ceiling lamp, somehow. The glass doors leading to a small balcony are covered in fingerprints. The living room carpet has a reddish stain Lance is not quite sure he wants to know its source. And apparently, someone ate pizza for dinner and didn’t even care about disposing of the empty box.

No. This place is not simply ‘just a mess’.

This place is _chaos_.

“Sorry about this,” Shiro says to him, scratching the back of his head a little awkwardly. “It’s been some weeks since the last time I found someone to clean around and I’ve been very busy with work too.”

“It’s okay,” Lance says, using nonchalantly to cover his initial shock. “I’m guessing you weren’t planning on bringing people home today? Plus it’s the perfect opportunity for you to try me.”

Shiro smiles at Lance apologetically. “Yeah, I guess now I can try you properly,” he says, then turns on his heels and gestures for Lance to follow.

The apartment is fairly big for just a single father and his daughter to live there. Lance imagines it could even be perceived as comfortable if it wasn’t for the alarming state of disarray in which the place is in.

Shiro gives Lance the grand tour, completely ignoring the mess on the floor and other areas. He shows him the kitchen and the ample living room; there’s a dining table between the two spaces, to littered in stuff for it to be where the eating happens. Sure enough, the pizza box he smelled before sits on top of more papers, books, and something that looks like some kind of city map. Near the kitchen there’s a door leading to a bathroom, which Lance is also expected to clean and keep organized.

Shiro’s bedroom is large, and minimalist in style. A queen bed in the middle, a nightstand, an embedded wooden closet, and a half-wall bookshelf full of heavy, bound in leather volumes. There’s also a door near one corner that has to be a private bathroom. Though what really catches Lance attention is the panoramic window to the other side of the room, which is flanked by thick, dark purple curtains, currently half closed.

Next to Shiro’s bedroom is his daughter’s. All pastel colors, stuffed animals and the like. The typical little girl room you see in TV shows and movies except for a large amount of books resting on different surfaces - the floor included. It is also in the same untidy state displayed by the rest of the house. _Like father like daughter_ , Lance thinks absentmindedly.

“And this is the guest room,” Shiro says, entering the last bedroom of the lot. Surprisingly enough, this one is actually quite tidied up. “It’ll be yours to stay overnight whenever I need you to, which might happen at a moment notice on any day. And of course, when it happens I’ll pay you for the extra hours.”

Lance looks around the bedroom and notices it is just a bit smaller than Shiro’s. The bed is not as big, but it’s clearly a double, more than enough for Lance to spend the night once in a while. A built-in closet is in front of the bed, wooden doors completely open to reveal just a couple of spare sheets and towels. The view from the large window right across the door promises to be stunning; Lance can actually see himself looking through it on restless nights.

Truth be told, the bedroom is more than nice. Even more so, Lance thinks it could actually be nicer than his own cramped bedroom. Not that he’s actually planning on moving in permanently or something like that. This is just a temporary job while Plaxum finds him a good, stable position in some respectable company. Either way, there’s no need to think about that right now.

“I’d strongly recommend for you to keep at least a change of clothing in here,” Shiro says, “but you’re welcome to bring whatever you want from your house.”

“Are you coming home tonight?” Lance asks, suddenly wondering if he should go to his place right now and look for a change of clothes.

“I’ll do my best, yes,” Shiro says, and it actually seems like he’s telling it to himself as much as to Lance.

“Good,” is all Lance can think of saying.

After that, they grow quiet for a moment. Lance’s thoughts drift to the fact Shiro hasn’t given any indication of knowing Lance from before and maybe, it is for the best. It might have been a turning point for Lance’s life, but he definitely wasn’t at his best when he and Shiro crossed paths years ago. If his new employer doesn’t remember him, then it’s a good opportunity for Lance to prove himself as the responsible, hard-working young adult his mom raised him to be.

Shiro must have spaced out as well because next thing Lance knows, he’s being addressed by the man as if they never stopped talking.

“I guess this is where I tell you what exactly are you here for, right?” Shiro says, slightly bouncing on his heels. He seems a bit out of place as well.

“Guess so,” Lance says, biting back a smile. He can’t help but wonder whether Shiro does this often or if he has someone to do it for him. Being the very busy man he says he is, Lance wouldn’t be too surprised if this was his assistant’s job or something.

“You ought to be here early in the morning,” Shiro starts, and Lance does his best to focus, “to make breakfast for me and Sayuri - but mostly Sayuri, before she goes to school.”

Lance feels his brain pausing at the name. Oddly enough, Shiro hadn’t brought up his daughter’s name until now. It probably is something to do with her safety, with him being a homicides’ police detective and Lance being a complete stranger. Nonetheless, getting this seemingly insignificant piece of information gives Lance’s confidence a boost. If Shiro is confiding her daughter’s name to him at last, then he’s undoubtedly not unemployed anymore.

“I also expect you to take her there and pick her up at noon,” Shiro continues. “It’s not far from here, so you shouldn’t have problems with that. I will text you the address.” Lance glances briefly to his wristwatch then to Shiro again. “What I ask of you around the house is to keep it as organized and clean as you can while taking care of my daughter, but she’s the priority. Make her eat breakfast, lunch and dinner, be sure she does her homework, and overall keep an eye on her throughout the day. She’s not much of a TV watcher, so that shouldn’t be a problem. But she can’t stay up past nine, whether she likes it or not. You can eat with her too, if you wish. I will give you money for groceries and you can ask me if you need anything else. Questions?”

Lance does his best to memorize everything Shiro just said. All in all, the job doesn’t strike him as particularly difficult. Of course, house chores are nothing but exhausting and handling a little kid is too. But considering all the shady stuff he could be doing to earn as much money as Shiro offers him, Lance fancies himself a very lucky guy.

“It’s almost noon,” Lance says, after a moment of silence. He raises his hand to Shiro’s eye level and points to his watch. “We could go pick up Sayuri right now, I’d see where’s the school located and I could make the two of you some lunch. Or I could bring her with me, if you have to be somewhere else.”

“Almost noon?” Shiro asks, as if he’s barely realized the time himself. “Jesus!”

He moves toward the door and Lance follows him, not entirely sure of what’s he supposed to do. Shiro pauses to put on his shoes and turns to face him once more. He takes out a small set of keys from one of his coat pockets and offers them to Lance, along with a bundle of cash tied with a rubber band. Lance eyes Shiro’s hand for a moment before taking the stuff.

“A friend of mine is picking Sayuri up today,” Shiro explains. “She’ll eat lunch there then I’ll pick her up and come home with her, probably around six or seven. As for me, I have to go back to the station and probably have some good ol’ cup noodles. But thanks for the offering.”

With that, Shiro flashes him a bright smile that has his internal self blushing like a teenager. How’s this man so handsome? How’s Lance working for a man like this? _Focus, Lance, this is just another job, one that you_ need _!_ He says to himself, forcing a response out of his throat.

“O-okay,” he manages, clutching the keys and money in his hand as a way to ground himself. “Then I guess imma start up here for now. You go teach those bad guys a lesson!”

Shiro chuckles at that, even if Lance wants to throw himself out of the balcony for saying something so silly in front of his new boss. Surprisingly, the man seems to find Lance’s way to make a fool of himself amusing.

“Goodbye, Lance,” he says, opening the door and looking at him again. “See you tonight.”

Then Shiro closes the door behind him and Lance proceeds to do an embarrassing victory dance in front of the shoe rack.

 

 

 

“So, what you’re saying is, your new boss is in fact that man you met all those years ago-”

“Yes.”

“...the one that saved your drunken ass from being stabbed by a mugger-”

“Mmhmm.”

“...and then bought you a cup of coffee and gave you a pep talk that changed your entire life?”

Lance can almost hear Pidge’s confused frown through the speaker. Truth be told, this whole situation doesn’t strike him as logical either.

“Geez! Your life’s like a bad soap opera,” she says, voice deadpan.

“Hey!” Lance shrieks toward his phone on the counter. He stirs the stew one more time before setting the stove’s temperature to low, then switches the rice-cooker from ‘cook’ to ‘heat’. “I didn’t call you for you to insult my backstory.”

“Then you should have called Hunk,” Pidge says, matter-of-factly. “You say he doesn’t remember you?”

“I don’t think he does,” he says, taking the phone in one hand. The smell tells Lance his meat stew is almost ready; he hums before speaking again. “I mean, he’s a cop. I’m sure I’m not the only drunk kid he’s lectured.”

Pidge hums in agreement. “So you gonna keep working for him.”

“Well yeah. It is good money and God only knows how much I need it right now.”

Lance glances at his stew, deciding it’s already done. He turns off the heat completely and rests his butt against the counter, sipping water from a glass he set early on. It’s been some time since he had to do this amount of chores in one day and his body is resenting it; he can feel it in his muscles. Another humming comes from Pidge’s side of the line.

“Are you gonna bang him, then?” she asks in a casual manner. Lance almost chokes on his water.

“W-what? Pidge, what the hell!”

Pidge’s snicker fills the room. “Well, dude’s still _sculpted by angels_ , isn’t he?” she says, mocking Lance’s way of describing Shiro every time he told the story to his friends. “And you have a thing for banging your bosses, don’t you?”

“Is not a thing. It just happened one time!” Lance tries to defend himself, but Pidge blatantly ignores him.

“Is not a crazy question to be asking, really,” she states, amusement in her voice. “Less so now that you are your hero’s young, naive, attractive housekeeper. It’s almost the plot of a cliché porn clip.”

“I’m also his daughter’s babysitter,” Lance says to the phone. “I’m not that shameless and besides, look where banging my last boss got me.”

“Well, it got you to the house of your knight in shining armor, didn’t it?” Pidge countered. “Is not so bad of an outcome, if you ask me.”

A distinctive sound of keys on a keyhole makes Lance snap from whatever knight-related thoughts he was having.

“Shit! They’re here,” he says to the speaker. “Gotta go. Talk to you later.”

“Break a leg!” Pidge says before hanging up.

Lance takes off the apron and sprints toward the door. The apartment looks ten times better than it did when he arrived that morning and even though there’s still room for improvement, he’s actually very proud of how clean and tidy everything is now. He combs his hair with his fingers and straightens his shirt - the clean one he got from his place after doing the chores.

Anticipation fills his body as the seconds go by slower than usual. His savior is here again, about to see just how much Lance deserves this opportunity. His savior’s daughter is here too, and Lance really wants to be a good nanny for her as well. He likes children, after all. Shiro’s kid can’t be that difficult to handle.

The door opens at last, revealing two things Lance isn’t prepared for.

One of them is a tiny person, with hair so blonde it appears white and dark skin near Lance’s own complexion. She’s three feet tall and her azure eyes are big and round with the innocence of childhood, following Lance’s every movement now that they finally landed on him. Nonetheless, her features are as sharp as Shiro’s, and there’s something about her stance that screams Shiro all over the place.

The other thing Lance isn’t prepared for is the man at the door, walking right behind Sayuri. He has known that man since high school. _Dang!_ Lance even dated him when he was in college - for like thirty seconds. And he most definitely _isn’t_ Takashi Shirogane.

“Hey, kiddo! Don’t forget to take off your shoes before you sprint to your… Lance?”

Keith’s eyes land on Lance just as Sayuri’s did before, making him feel suddenly out of place. Is Lance’s life really a bad soap opera? Because there’s no way in freaking _hell_ a regular mortal’s life can be so full of coincidences in the span of half a day.

Some movement at Keith’s waist level makes Lance tore his gaze from the man’s perplexed face. Sayuri is standing beside Keith, still looking at Lance with big questioning eyes that must be wondering just whom the heck is that dude standing in the middle of her house. Lance is just about to introduce himself when Keith’s voice interrupts his intentions.

“Why don’t you go change your clothes, Yura?” he asks, not taking his gaze from Lance. Those pretty purple-like eyes drilling into Lance’s soul. “I’ll wait for you here.”

Sayuri takes one last look at Lance before doing as she’s been told.

They keep silent for a second, as if none of them knows exactly how to proceed in this kind of situation. Lance is the first to talk.

“So you’re Shiro’s friend, huh?” he asks, mostly as a lousy ice-breaker. Thankfully, Keith takes the hint.

“That I am,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest in a gesture so characteristically Keith that Lance has to bite back a smile at the familiarity. “Are you Shiro’s new nanny?”

“I’m his housekeeper,” Lance corrects, mostly because nannying is not the only thing he’s gonna be paid to do. “I haven’t seen you in years, man.” The words slip from his lips without him realizing. Keith face does something it always does when he’s trying very hard not to flinch.

“Yeah,” he breathes, hunching over. “I’ve been busy, I guess.”

“Busy becoming a cop,” Lance teases, unable to keep his mouth from running. “And getting married! What was _that_ about?”

Keith’s brow furrows. He tilts his head in confusion. “How did you know-?”

“What? The marriage?” Lance says, as casually as he can manage. “Pidge told me, dude, no biggie. You married her brother, after all, and she’s not one for secrets. Not that it was one, though. You and Matt are cut for each other since day one.”

Keith stares at Lance in awe, blinking a couple times. Lance can’t help but wonder if Keith’s thinking what Lance thinks he’s thinking. Which is, of course, the last, very unpleasant conversation they had before parting ways. Lance was so angry with Keith at the time. But he’s not anymore. He hasn’t been in a long, long time.

“Congratulations, by the way,” Lance says, as a mean to convey all the things he’s pretty sure they don’t have time to discuss at the moment. “I’m very happy for you guys. Matt is really lucky.”

Keith’s expression softens, his shoulders losing most of their tension.

“Thank you, McClain,” he says, with a little smile Lance knows all too well. _The warm one_ , as he used to call it. The one that could melt polar icecaps.

“Are you my new babysitter?”

A little voice to Lance’s left makes him tear his gaze from Keith’s - still pretty - face. Sayuri is standing outside her bedroom’s door, looking at him with sincere curiosity. She changed her school uniform for something more casual and comfy. There’s a cartoon owl staring at Lance from the girl’s t-shirt and her slippers are shaped like white lions.

“Yes,” Lance says, turning to look at the girl. “Yes I am. I’m Lance. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Sayuri Shirogane,” she says, loud and clear, “and I’m not a baby, so I don’t need a babysitter. Go away!”

Then she goes back into her room and slams the door shut.

“Sayuri!” Keith shouts, with a reprimanding tone Lance knows firsthand.

The man closes the gap between him and Sayuri’s door in two strides, and Lance follows suit. Keith turns the knob just to find it locked. He sighs and knocks a couple of times with a knuckle.

“Yura,” Keith says, voice less harsh than before, “Yura, open up, please. It’s me, uncle Keith.”

“Uncle Keith?” Lance mouths, raising an eyebrow. Keith sends him a defiant look that obviously says _if you dare teasing me for it, I will kill you_. Just like old times.

After a moment of silence, they hear the door unlock. Keith signals for Lance to stay outside while he goes in, leaving the door ajar enough for Lance to see what happens inside. Sayuri is perched on the edge of her bed, a pout on her delicate face and her eyes downcast.

“Hey kiddo,” says Keith as soon as he’s close. “Can I sit?”

The girl nods without looking up. Keith sits next to her.

“Would you like to tell me what was that about?” Keith carefully asks her, pointing with his thumb to the living room’s general direction.

“It’s the truth, uncle Keith. I’m not a baby.” To prove her point, Sayuri proceeds to deepen her pout and cross her arms in front of her chest.

“I know you’re not,” Keith concedes. “But there was no need to be rude to Lance. He did nothing to you.”

“I...” Sayuri’s bravado falters for a moment, then she recovers. “He’s a nanny,” she says, as if that explains everything. “I hate nannies!”

Keith takes a look at her, then in Lance’s direction. He sighs again. “Yura, look at me.”

The girl lifts her eyes toward Keith in a daring matter. If Keith notices, he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Remember what we talked in the car?” he says. “About daddy needing help around here?” Sayuri nods, her pout softening. “Well Lance is here to help daddy. So you gotta help him too.”

“I don’t wanna help him,” Sayuri replies, raising her high-pitched voice a little bit. “And I don’t want any more nannies! They are all the same.”

“Lance’s not like the other nannies,” Keith defends him, and Lance must admit he’s more than a little surprised. Marriage has definitely softened that mullet head. “He’s different.”

“How do you know?”

Keith looks at the ceiling for a moment, as if he’s searching for the right words.

“Because he’s my friend,” Keith says at last, connecting his gaze to Lance’s for a split-second before turning to look at Sayuri again. “And he can be your friend too, if you let him.”

Sayuri seems to consider Keith’s words for a long moment, eyes staring at the floor again. When she lets her arms fall from her chest, Lance knows Keith has won the battle for him.

“Okay,” she says, very quietly.

“Then we have a deal?” Keith asks her, extending one of his pinky fingers for her to take. Sayuri looks hesitantly from Keith’s face to the pinky to Keith’s face again, then she sighs visibly.

“Deal,” she says at last, interlocking her pinky with Keith’s.

“Alright,” says Keith, smiling a bit and standing up from the bed. “Let’s get some food into your body, then. I’m sure Lance has something great for you to eat. He’s a great cook, you know?”

Sayuri starts to walk to the door and her gaze connects with Lance’s. Caught in the middle of eavesdropping, all he can think of doing is smile at her. Surprisingly enough, the girl returns the smile, which makes Lance feel like he could kiss Keith out of gratitude. He’s not going to do that, of course, but he takes a mental note to ask Pidge for Matt’s phone number. Maybe he can’t kiss Keith’s pretty face, but Keith’s husband sure can do it in Lance’s behalf.

 

 

 

They end up eating dinner together, because Lance actually made too much food without realizing. Though it isn’t something that hasn't been seen before. His friend Hunk calls it Lance’s _nervous cooking spree_. Pidge calls it his _compulsive cook disorder_.

After dinner, Keith puts Sayuri to bed and stays around enough to catch up with Lance and exchange phone numbers. They talk about Lance’s time in Galra Corp and job hunting, Keith’s time as a highway patrol officer and his promotion to be Shiro’s partner, and Keith’s recent leave due to his wedding.

As it turns out, Shiro was Keith’s inspiration to become a cop in the first place. Having heard the story from Keith himself during their time together, Lance never knew Keith’s muse was actually the same guy who inspired him to get his technical degree. Speaking of weird coincidences...

When Keith finally leaves, Lance takes his time to tidy up the place again, mind reviewing the past couple of hours.

It is actually quite nice to have Keith back in his life, disregarding the odd circumstances. Having talked with the man for almost an hour as if they never ever split up, it’s more than evident to him than even though their lousy attempt of a relationship broke off their previous friendship, Lance actually misses what they used to have before romance messed it all up. And now, perhaps, they have a new chance to be friends.

Lance smiles to himself while doing the dishes, thinking about how certain things had to go certain way for him to be here right this instant.

“ _Well, it got you to the house of your knight in shining armor, didn’t it?_ ” Pidge’s voice echoes inside his head, more meaningful than before. “ _Is not so bad of an outcome, if you ask me._ ”

It is indeed not so bad of an outcome for the shitty months he’s had up until now. Not a bad outcome at all.

The sound of the front door opening tells Lance the other inhabitant of the apartment is finally home. In other circumstances, Lance would have felt the need to groom himself to give Shiro - his savior, his hero, one of the most handsome men he’s seen, and now his boss - a proper first impression of Lance’s first day as a housekeeper. However, after the emotionally challenging day he’s had, exhausted down to his hair roots and arms deep into soap water, Lance actually can’t be arsed to care. He’ll have plenty of days to look pretty for Shiro; today is just not one of them.

He hears Shiro setting his keys on the table, walking around the apartment, and opening and closing Sayuri’s door. After that, everything is silent. Lance wonders if he’s being rude by not properly addressing the man that just gave him a job. Before he can’t decide whether he should stop doing dishes, Shiro’s voice gets to him from behind.

“This place looks great,” he says, tone sincere. “I’m impressed.”

Lance smiles to himself just a bit, unable to stop the proud feeling spreading inside his chest. He likes praise, okay? Blame it to the middle child complex.

“You should be,” Lance says, getting back to scrub pots and rinse soapy silverware. He hopes his voice comes out nonchalant, though it maybe sounds a little cheeky. “It was a proper mess.”

Shiro chuckles at Lance’s remark and Lance wonders yet again how did he manage to land with the one boss in the world that would just laugh at his knee-jerk braggadocio.

“It really was,” Shiro says instead, and Lance can still hear a smile in his voice. “I’m sorry.”

“No worries” Lance shrugs. “It’s my job, after all. Might as well start up with a bang.”

He turns his head enough to peek over his shoulders and finds Shiro leaning against the kitchen wall, arms crossed over his chest. The long coat from before is gone, leaving only a button-up white shirt with the sleeves folded almost up to the elbow. Shiro’s metal prosthetic is stark against the white of the shirt. Lance recalls having asked him about it the first time they talked, so many years prior.

Lance’s eyes go from the prosthetic to Shiro’s face only to find out that he’s looking at him with something akin amusement, a mysterious smile gracing his features. Lance turns his gaze back to the dishes, heart rate somewhat raised. Christ! Why is Shiro so handsome?

They fall silent after that. Enough for Lance to think maybe Shiro is not watching him do the dishes anymore. However, the man speaks again and his voice comes from the same place as it did before.

“Did Sayuri give you any trouble?” he asks.

“Not at all,” Lance half lies. The kid was very well-behaved after Keith helped him out, so Lance considers there’s no actual need for Shiro to know about their rocky launching. “Yura’s such a nice little kid,” he keeps going. “And so clever too! She’d done practically all her homework before coming here.”

“Yura, huh?” Shiro asks. “I get you met Keith, then. He and his husband are the only two people who call her that and get away with it. She doesn’t like it much.”

Lance pauses after that. He recalls calling the girl ‘Yura’ mid dinner, while telling one of his ice-breaker stories. Keith and her were laughing hard at Lance’s impersonation of one of his elementary school teachers, so it wasn’t such a big deal when the nickname fell from Lance’s lips. Perhaps it isn’t that Yura doesn’t like being called that; perhaps people just don’t know how to appeal to Yura’s good side.

A beat or two later, Lance realizes maybe Shiro is waiting for an answer. He resumes the chore at hand and talks again.

“In fact, I already knew Keith from when I was in school,” he says, being blatantly vague at the circumstances. Is not like his boss needs to know - or rather cares - about his and Keith’s turbulent past.

“Is that so?” Shiro asks. Lance hums in agreement. “What a small, small world.”

Lance keeps washing plates and silverware while Shiro silently observes. From time to time, Lance risks glances over his shoulder only to find Shiro still watching him. Doesn’t he have other things to do? Either way, dishes recede at last and Lance starts to dry them with a cloth and put them away on the drawers.

Shiro’s muffled footsteps move from the wall to one of the top shelves to Lance’s right. The wooden door opens and closes, and then Shiro is next to him, putting a kettle on the stove. Lance finishes drying the last of the cookware and looks in Shiro’s direction, discovering in horror that the man is holding a styrofoam cup of instant cup noodles in his right hand.

“What exactly are you doing?” Lance asks, maybe too loud. He turns his body toward Shiro and crosses his arms over his chest in what Pidge likes to call his _scolding mom posture_.

“Uh, making myself some dinner?” Shiro says not looking at him, searching inside a drawer until he takes out a spoon. 

“That’s not dinner. That’s poison!” Lance says, matter-of-factly. Shiro turns his head to him and throws a questioning look upon noticing Lance’s body language. Lance just deadpans. “If you’re hungry, then put that dreadful thing away and sit at the table. I saved you a plate.”

Shiro’s questioning look evolves into a whole furrowed brow but Lance is taking none of it. He shoos the man to the table until he sits, then reheats the food on the microwave and places it in front of Shiro with a fork and a glass of juice.

Lance makes a mental note to throw all the cup noodles away when he has the opportunity. Then he leans against the same wall that supported Shiro before.

“Eat up,” Lance prompts, when Shiro takes too many seconds to actually take a bite. When Shiro does, though, the man’s whole expression changes from puzzled to blissed out.

“Oh my god, Lance,” Shiro says mid chew. Somehow, he’s grinning. “This is amazing!”

A new wave of pride warms Lance’s insides. He can’t help but feeling joy when he’s being complimented, more so if the payer of compliments is as easy to the eyes as Shiro happens to be.

“Of course it is!” Lance chirps, scolding mom posture melting away at the praise. “Told ya I was a great cook.”

Shiro is eating Lance’s rice and meat stew like his life depends on it, and Lance bites back a grin. A couple more bites in, Shiro talks again.

“I’m truly glad I hired you,” he says, looking straight at Lance in an indecipherable, yet content sort of way.

“Then wait until I make you guys some lasagna,” Lance adds, unable to stop himself. “You’ll want to propose to me!”

“If it tastes half as good as this one,” Shiro says, after swallowing a massive bite he’d shoveled into his mouth, “I might as well marry you.”

Lance chokes on nothing and start coughing to hide it. He can also feel a blush creep his way to his cheeks. Meanwhile, Shiro keeps minding his food, unaware of the effect his little comment had on his housekeeper - which is perhaps for the best.

Lance’s wristwatch beeps, making his owner take a look at the time. It is pretty late, to be honest. When did it get this late? How didn’t Lance notice? He pushes himself off the wall and takes off the apron, flattening his ruffled hair with one hand.

“I should get going,” he says. Shiro looks up at him. “Gotta be here early tomorrow, to make you lot some healthy breakfast.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Shiro says. “Go ahead.”

Lance pads his way to the shoe rack, putting on his shoes and taking the backpack he brought with him from home that afternoon. He turns around again, to look at Shiro.

“Goodnight, detective,” he says, making a quick two-fingers salute. “Don’t let the bugs bite.”

To Lance’s awe, Shiro chuckles at his joke. “See you tomorrow, Lance,” he says.

“It’s a date!” Lance replies, against his better judgment.

And when he finally walks out the door, he can’t help but sport a face-splitting grin that accompanies him all the way to his tiny apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 20 life points to the one that guesses which movie inspired some conversations ;)  
> \----  
> I really tried to keep this short but I failed spectacularly. However, it shouldn’t take more than 2 or 3 additional chapters to wrap it up in a pretty little bow. I will try to finish it within the next month, so please OsakaSogo (and everyone out there reading this silly thing) bear with me and have fun!! I love y’all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Go talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/theonemaye) and [tumblr](http://theonemaye.tumblr.com/). I'm down for fandom talk, ship talk, real talk, jumping and yelling, whatever you want!! And if you happen to like what I do, please, please, please consider dropping a [coffee](http://Ko-fi.com/theonemaye) ;)
> 
> \--  
>  **Update Nov. 2018:** Please read the series description.


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